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Eleven years had passed
since the marching Allies left
the small and peaceful town of Baiano;
they glanced back and heard
the song they cherished and loved:
admiring those pretty stripes and stars!

Grateful for their kindness,
women threw flowers petals
and claimed them heroes;
the smallest boys and girls
followed them dreaming of their America:
a free land where everything was granted!

I pulled a yellowed picture
out of an old photo album...
uncle Steve held a drill rifle
given to him by a young dying
American soldier whispering,
" Keep this rifle and remember
that I fought to free Italy...
to give you back your freedom! "
Minutes after he died staring 
at the cobalt Southern sky...
perhaps his wish was to be 
buried there sensing serenity!

The year of our Lord was
ninenteen sixty two and on that
memorable Christmas Eve,
I went back to that room to review the photo
of the young and proud soldier holding
his drill rifle: he had a charming Yankee smile;
I wanted that rifle, nothing more...
nothing less, but who could get me one?

Santa Clause was a fascinating fairy tale
that only little children believed in;
I peaked in the chimney, but ashes
blackened my adolescent face...
" Santa, Santa...I have a wish for you!
I like to get a drill rifle and be a soldier! "
He did not hear me...I shuddered in despair.

I went to sleep that evening,
the chill crystallized the snowflakes
stuck to the foggy window;
why did the distant stars shine brighter?
Why did gorgeous Baby Jesus smile at me?

I woke up on Christmas Day,
and next to me there it was: the drill rifle
I wanted so much! I looked around
and my dad stared at me giggling,
" You have been a good boy:
here's your present, son! "  


Written on 12/12/2016

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